To Walk a Path
by Garjzla abr Eldrvarya Sundavar
Summary: Follow the adventures of Marrick, a cathar of the Church of Avacyn, and his battle against the rising dark as his planeswalker spark ignites.
1. Ch 1: Did Somebody Call for a Cathar?

To Walk a Path

Chapter One: Did Somebody call for a Cathar?

A lone man made his way along the woodland road. A crescent moon hung in the sky, its silver light filtering through the treetops and casting speckled shadows on the ground. The road wound through the forest, walls of black and green foliage on either side. Occasional night sounds broke through the eerie quiet: the scuttle of a mouse in the undergrowth, an owl's hoot as it flew unseen through the trees. The man himself made no sound as he went along, his boots leaving only the faintest of impressions as he walked the well worn path. He wore a long white coat, faded and grayed by the passage of time. The collar of the coat was turned up to keep out the night's chill, and perched on his head was a brown tricorn hat. Of his face, little cold be seen, but two pale blue eyes stood out in the shadows of the hat's brim. At his hip was a sword in a scabbard, and strapped to his back was a bow and quiver of arrows. Around his neck was a thin metal chain, and hanging from it was a silver amulet, carved into a design reminiscent of two heron heads.

The man walked the road alone. Few would travel at night in Innistrad, most choosing to barricade themselves inside rather than face the night's terrors. And the night's terrors, these in inhuman monstrosities, were only growing stronger, even as humanity's defense weakened. The archangel Avacyn and her flights of angels no longer answered their pleas. Geists arose from their graves, no longer bound by holy wards to rest. Ghoulcallers and skaberen commanded ever growing armies of the undead. Vampires preyed on humans, many having left the mountains of Stensia as the blood supply dwindled. Werewolves were no longer confined to rural areas, and rumors of an attack on Thraeben swept across the country. Cathars, holy warriors of the Church of Avacyn, were increasingly sought after as the dark monsters grew stronger. Their need across the plane rose even as their numbers dwindled.

Still, many cathars strove faithfully to answer the cries and drive back the night. That was exactly what this man was doing as the road the road he followed moved into open ground, his destination coming into sight. A town stood a few hundred yards away from the forest, the path leading to a large gate in the timber wall that surrounded it. Two men with spears stood outside the gate, watching vigilantly for any threat. As the man approached, they lowered their spears menacingly.

"Halt!" shouted one, "Who goes there? Stop and identify yourself!"

The man stopped and raised head, the moonlight illuminating his face. "Marrick Lenor, son of Thomas," he said, brandishing the amulet around his neck, "cathar of the Church of Avacyn. I was sent here in response to reports of a geist in the area."

The guards relaxed, withdrawing their weapons. "Isaiah Torvorn, son of Ryan." Said one of them, stepping forward, "It's good to have you with us, cathar. Just a moment." He turned toward the gate, "Hey! Terrence! Open up, there's a cathar out here!"

"A cathar?" a voice yelped on the other side of the wall. There was a frantic scuffling noise, followed by a clank and muted cursing. Marrick heard the sound of a bolt being drawn, and then the gate swung inward. A blonde head peaked around the doorway, a lantern in one hand and a sword in the other. A pail seemed to have affixed itself to the man's foot, and a chair was lying askew to the right. Marrick's face flickered into a faint smile, something which Isaiah did not miss.

"You'll have to forgive Terrence," he said, "he's a good warrior, but he gets jumpy whenever someone new shows up."

Marrick nodded. "Understandable," he replied, "and not necessarily a bad thing, given the times." The mood darkened almost instantly, an uncomfortable silence falling over the group, each man brooding over his own experiences with the rising dark. Eventually, the guard who hadn't introduced himself spoke up.

"Tell me, cathar," he asked, "is it true what they say? Has the archangel abandoned us?"

Marrick turned to face him, his piercing blue eyes meeting cold brown ones. "I don't know," he replied, "Only the archbishops and the Lunarch saw the angel very often. I've seen her only once before, many years ago."

The grim silence return, broken after a moment by Terrence. "Well, at least you're here now." He said.

"Yes," replied Marrick, "and speaking of which, I need to talk to whoever's in charge around here. Could one of you lead me to him?"

"Of course," said Isaiah, "My watch is almost over anyway." He hesitated for a moment, "I have to warn you, though, not everyone is too happy with the Church right now. Father Xavier is doing the best he can, but the people are feeling…abandoned."

Marrick simply nodded. "I understand. Your town is not alone in that respect, but the ranks of the Church are diminishing. We cannot be everywhere at once. We, too, are doing the best we can. Now then, let's go see this Father Xavier." Wordlessly, Isaiah led him into the village.

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**A/N: Well, here it is. My first real MTG story. Please read and review and tell me what you think. Chapter Two might not be up for a bit, but rest asured I am definitely working on it.**


	2. Ch 2: Rumors and Resentment

**A/N: Well, at long last, here it is, chapter two of To Walk a Path. Kind of a minor chapter, but I realized that I needed to right _something_ before people started forgetting this. In any event, the next chapter will certainly be longer, and once again, reviews are always appreciated.**

Chapter Two: Resentment and Rumors

Isaiah led Marrick through the gloomy village, the two men moving swiftly but silently through the streets. Most of the houses were dark, but several had faint light filtering out through shutters and beneath doors. Each door was adorned with the same angelic symbol in some form, from simple wooden carvings to elaborate silver inlay. One or two had wreaths hanging on them, traditionally a symbol of protection for a newborn child, a happier sign in the dark times. Marrick muttered a small prayer of blessing and protection as he passed by.

As they continued on toward the center of the village, Marrick studied the man walking in front of him. Isaiah wore leather armor, the symbol of Avacyn inscribed onto the chest, as well as metal shoulder guards and gauntlets. He carried a silver tipped spear, and a dagger was strapped to the inside of his thigh. He walked forward warily, vigilant for danger even within the walls of the village, but he carried his weapon with an ease and familiarity that betrayed experience and skill. Overall, Marrick decided that he would much rather have him as an ally than a foe.

The street suddenly widened out, signaling their arrival at the village square. The open area was perhaps eighty or ninety yards across, roughly rectangular. Darkened buildings and empty stalls surrounded the square, several catching Marrick's eye. There was an open building made of rough hewn stone situated at the far end of the square, but even from Marrick's perspective, metal tools and weapons could be seen farther inward. It was obviously a forge and metalsmith shop. To the right, on the western side of the square, stood another building, this one far larger than those surrounding it. Made of pale stone, a bell tower rose out of the roof, a man with a lantern standing in a look out. Tall oak doors, covered in meticulously carved wards, stood silent and closed as the men approached. The village church. Isaiah raised a gloved fist and knocked harshly on the door. After a moment, the latch was drawn and the door opened, revealing a young woman.

"Guardsman Torvorn?" she said, looking surprised, "What are you- um, that is to say, how may I help you at this late hour?"

"Hello Sarah," replied Isaiah, "We're here to see Father Xavier."

"Oh," she replied, noticing Marrick for the first time, "Of course. If you just wait here for a minute, I'll go get him."

"That won't be necessary," said a voice. An old man in the robes of the priesthood walked up behind Sarah. "Thank you for answering the door," he said to Sarah, "but I think I can take it from here." Sarah turned and bowed slightly before turning and walking back into the church.

"Now then," the old man said, "Isaiah, what is it that you wanted to see me about?"

Isaiah turned and gestured to Marrick. "Father Xavier, this is Marrick Lenor," he said, "He was sent from Thraeben about the geist at the old mill."

The priest's eyes brightened. "Ah," he said, "so you've arrived at last. Come in, come in, please. It's far too dark a night to be out so late. Isaiah," he said, turning to the guard, "you may return home. I will someone to take your place at the gate." Isaiah nodded and walked off, quickly disappearing among the houses and stalls. Marrick turned back to the priest and stepped into the Church.

The old man closed the door behind him. "You must be tired after your journey," he began, "Did you walk the Breakneck Ride all night?"

"No," Marrick replied, turning, "I rested at a farmer's house, a man by the name of Aiden. I left shortly after moonrise."

Father Xavier glanced at him disapprovingly. "Even if it is not a full moon, there have been rumors of the Leeraug Howlpack in the area," he said, "You should have waited until moonset."

Marrick turned to regard the old priest. "All due respect, father," he said slowly, "I have dealt with werewolves and geists before. I am not defenseless against them."

The priest nodded hastily. "Of course, of course," he said, "but one can never be too careful. Especially given the, ah, weakening of Avacynian magics, as of late."

Marrick regarded him carefully before slowly nodding. "Yes," he said, "All the more reason for me to arrive here with all due speed." He began walking again. "The villagers seem to sense the decline as well. I believe Isaiah mentioned something about the people getting restless?"

The priest winced slightly. "I wish he hadn't told you that," came the reply, "but yes, there has been a bit of, well, I wouldn't go so far as to say resentment, but several of the families of the town, particularly those who've lost a loved one, have begun to, express doubts, about the Angel's wards. A rogue werewolf recently attacked, and several people were killed before it could be brought down. I did my best to subdue the thing, but I am not as young or as strong as I used to be."

Marrick noticed that the priest looked slightly troubled. "Even if you had been at full strength," he said, "people would still have been killed."

"Oh, I know," the man replied, "I've dealt with many deaths over the years. I have come to accept that all death cannot be prevented. No, what troubles me, is that with the waning magic, once you leave, it may not be long before I can no longer protect these people as I have sworn to."

Marrick looked at the priest. "What," he said carefully, "happened to the old cathar, the one stationed here?"

Father Xavier sighed. "You could have asked Isaiah that," he replied, "he knows better than anyone else.

Marrick furrowed his eyebrows. "And why might that be?"

"Ryan was Isaiah's father." The priest replied stiffly.

Marrick's face softened. "Ah," he replied, "I see. I take it he was well liked?"

The old man nodded. "Yes," he replied, "And he is sorely missed." The priest shook himself. "But enough of this dark talk. I'm sure you wish to know the details surrounding the restless geist, but I'm afraid it will have to wait until morning. You will find a room for you to sleep in upstairs, the second door on your left. I will have Sarah wake you tomorrow morning. Now please, go and get some rest."

Marrick nodded to the old man and they parted, him to the stairs on the right, the priest to the door on the left. As he ascended the stairs and entered the room, Marrick realized that the priest had given him the previous cathar's room to sleep in. Banishing the gloomy thoughts from his mind, Marrick quickly removed his armaments and collapsed into the bed, quickly surrendering himself to the peaceful abyss of sleep.


End file.
